


Three

by Greysgate



Category: Angel: the Series, Buffy the Vampire Slayer (TV)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-15
Updated: 2018-05-15
Packaged: 2019-05-07 11:59:31
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,873
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14670639
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Greysgate/pseuds/Greysgate
Summary: Darla’s settling in at Wolfram & Hart, and conjures a particularly devilish welcome back party, with Angelus as guest of honor… and Angel as the main course, with an unexpected bit of dessert.





	Three

**Author's Note:**

> Originally published in 2000 under the name Victoria Rivers

He smelled like meat, but then all humans did to Darla. She could hear his heart beating, slamming faster against his ribs as she came near. That he was afraid of her was obvious from the perspiration beading above his beautifully shaped lips, but his attitude was all sureness and calm. 

"You understand what we want you to do, don't you, Darla?" he asked. His voice was soft and sensual. 

This one would make a splendid vampire. It would be a service to turn him. But she couldn't. He had spoken the words and shed his blood to bring her back. He owned her, and while she didn't like the thought of that at all, part of her didn't really mind too much. He was just too soft as a mortal. His teeth were too blunt, too used to coaxing and persuasion. Lindsay MacDonald was a lawyer. That was, at least, the closest thing to demonhood in human heirarchy. He would do as her master. 

For now. 

"Yes, Lindsay, darling," she cooed back, licking her lips as she stalked closer to him. "You want Angel destroyed. I can do that. And I will enjoy it immensely." She laid her palms lightly on his lapels and slid them upward as she closed on him. He smelled delicious, and she tucked her nose daintily against his throat for another heady sniff. "I know how he thinks. What he wants. What arouses him. And what makes him afraid." 

She could feel Lindsay trembling slightly beneath her touch. He still didn't know about the power he held over her. That she wanted to keep from him for as long as possible. Let him think this was simply a bargain she had struck with Wolfram & Hart, the price of her freedom from oblivion. She had agreed to do no harm to any of the employees or clients of the firm, and in exchange they had gifted her with the life that Angel had taken away. It was a good deal, and they had been good hosts. For weeks afterward, while she recovered from being dead, they had brought her a steady stream of homeless people and unwanted burdens to feed on and then neatly disposed of the bodies afterward. 

She almost felt like a goddess.  And the thought of killing Angel helped her to grow strong quickly. She had thought of little else since they brought her back. 

"Yes, well, that's why you're here," he said tightly. "You seem to be pretty well recovered now, so the senior partners asked me to find out when you wanted to get started. Do you have a plan?"

 "Oh, yes."  Darla had to have a taste. Just a little one. So she licked his neck.

Lindsay jerked away from her as if he had been shot. Wild panic flared in his eyes for a moment, but he composed himself quickly. He took a seat behind his desk, putting distance and furniture between them. "So what's the plan? Where do we start?"

 "I want you to send a team of demons to Ireland. I'll give you the rest of the instructions later, but they need to be big guys, not terribly smart but very single-minded, and impervious to both fire and water. Rakestra demons should do nicely."

"Demons? To Ireland? That's going to be an expensive trip. What are they going after?"

Darla smiled. She chuckled softly to herself. "A sorceress, the like of which mortal man hasn't seen for centuries."

"Sorceress? We've got witches and shamans here already, if you need a spell cast."

The beautiful blonde vampire shook her head and sauntered closer to the desk. "For what I have in mind, you need more than a mere mortal, Lindsay. Send the Rakestras to fetch Sorcha. They must catch her after she's shed her skin, and take the skin as well. Whoever owns her skin may command her."

"A snake woman, eh?" Lindsay didn't look pleased.

Peals of bright laughter rolled from Darla's lips. This boy was so ignorant, so pretty and so terribly afraid. He was going to be great fun to play with, until she was finished with him. "Why, no, Lindsay, my love. Something else all together. You'll see."

"Okay, I'll arrange it. What sort of spell is this? I'm only asking because I need to know if there's anything else we need to gather up so we can remove this thorn in our collective side."

She strolled toward his desk, smoothed down her skirt and sat on it amid his papers. With provocative grace, she lifted her legs and crossed them to give him a very, very good view of them. "A room below ground with no sunlight, should be the only other thing we need. Oh, and Angel's hairbrush, preferably one he has used." She wrinkled her nose and whispered conspiratorially. "Actually, we need some of his hair or fingernail clippings or blood, but as inept as most of your minions have been that you sent against him, I think you'd be better off going for the hairbrush. Just between you and me."

"Blood would be better." He gazed down at his still-healing right hand. Or rather, at the stump where his right hand used to be. "I'd like to make Angel bleed a little."

"We will, believe me. But hair will do, Lindsay. Don't forget that." She slithered off the desk and walked slowly out of the room, making sure her hips swayed seductively as she crossed the carpet. She could feel his eyes on her body, and knew that he was torn between fear and desire. That would be a good tool to use on him, and one in which she was an expert.

Oh, yes. She was going to have a very good time with Lindsay MacDonald. And together, they would celebrate the death of Angel, and the rebirth of Angelus. What a party that was going to be! 

 

* * *

 

 

Darla moved forward cautiously in the dark. Her vampire senses were attuned to the smallest sound or movement, but the one she sought was as still as a statue. Her demon eyes could see just a little, still carrying the oversaturation of light from outside into that chamber, but as she neared the hard bunk, she could just make out the shape of a scrawny old woman, her long hair flowing down her back. The woman knew she was being stalked, but she was too weak to care.

 "You've been away from the sun for a long time now, Sorcha," Darla purred. "Long enough for you to consider bargaining for your freedom before you wither away to nothing."

 "What do you want, vampire?" the woman demanded, her voice issuing haltingly from her parched throat. Her Irish accent was pronounced, her soft voice musical even as it cracked. "This place stinks of death."

 "I want a spell. I want magic. _Your_ magic, as only you can do."  She sat down on the bunk beside the sorceress. "Work this for me, and I'll give you back your skin. We can't hold you, then."

 Sorcha turned toward the voice, and sniffed. "You're an old one. You must have a long list of enemies by now. What manner of spell is it that you want?"

 Darla sighed and leaned back against the wall, remembering. "I've heard it said that, when your kind falls in love, it's forever. And since you're immortal, that's a very long time."

 "Aye. But he's long gone, vampire. Two centuries dead." The sorceress bowed her head pensively. "He was a beauty, but he did not return my love. If he had, he would be immortal as well."

 "Ah, but he is, Sorcha!"  Darla waited until she saw the other woman's head jerk up and turn toward her voice. "He's in this city as we speak. And he still wears the ring you gave him. He still belongs to you. After a fashion."

 Sorcha pounced to her feet and rounded on the vampire. Darla dodged a burst of flame suddenly pouring out the woman's right palm, and leaped off the bunk.

 "That won't do you any good. Toast me and you'll never find him."

 Panting with effort, weakened by the fiery display, Sorcha wobbled and dropped to her hands and knees. "What spell is it that you want of me?" Her voice was a low growl now, filled with rage.

"What you didn't know, Sorcha, was that I loved him, too. After he left you behind, I found him. And I made him a vampire."

"No!" Sorcha reeled back, as if Darla had struck her a blow in the face. She clutched her head and wailed in grief.

 "As Angelus the vampire terrorized the world by my side. I had never seen such cruelty and passion before! He was truly the greatest vampire in the world. Such malevolence!" She sighed with approval, her eyes growing misty with memories. Suddenly her pleasure wrenched into hatred. "But then, a pack of Romani cursed him with his soul, and he has been abominable ever since, brooding and moping his way through time, helping the hopeless and fighting the good fight." She snorted her disapproval. 

A low breath of laughter issued from the sorceress as she knelt on the floor of the dark cell. "And he still wears my ring, eh?" 

Darla growled a warning. 

"The spell?" 

An evil smile gleamed across her face as pleasure returned, warming the vampire thoroughly. "I want you to bring back Angelus." 

"I cannot break the gypsy curse. You should know this." 

Darla nodded. "I don't want you to break the curse. _I want Angelus._ I want him to be able to look Angel in the eye. And in the end, I want Angelus to kill him, after he's made a shambles of his life."

Sorcha sat very still. Darla circled around her as she knelt on the floor, head down pensively. For a moment, she thought she heard the old woman weeping, but then there was silence again, and Sorcha lifted her head.

 "There is a danger in what you ask. There will be consequences."

 "You can do it, though, right? You can give me Angelus while Angel still exists?"

"Aye. And when I have done this terrible thing you ask of me, in addition to my freedom, I will ask you for one more thing, and you will give it to me along with my skin. Do I have your oath on this? The word of the demon?"

Darla considered. This being was thousands of years old, and filled with powerful magic. She had walked the earth before man arrived on it, and held within her secrets that no other being knew. She was cunning and tricky, but she was also bound by her word. Only mankind could get away with breaking such promises, which was one reason they had survived in what was once a demon's world.

 "You will cause no harm to Angelus?" Darla knew the sorceress could fulfill her promise and then negate it immediately afterward, unless she had insurance of her own.

 "Not I or any other present when the spell is cast. After that, what will be, will be."

 "I agree."

 "Then get me to the sunlight. I can make no magic like this."

 Darla all but ran to the door and flung it open. She escorted Sorcha outside into the corridor lit with cold fluorescents. She watched as the old woman walked out, straightening visibly beneath the light. Into the elevator and up to the roof she escorted the sorceress, but hung back in the shadows as the other woman went outside to bask in the sun. She waited by the door, and in time, Sorcha returned.

 She stood straight and tall, her long red hair draped over her shoulders and down her back. The wrinkles in her skin were gone, and she was beautiful, young again and glowing with strength and purpose. She closed the door behind her and stood in the stairwell, eyeing the blonde vampire warily.

 "I will need something of his person, like hair, fingernail clippings or blood."

 "It's being arranged," Darla assured her. "And the full moon is tomorrow night."

 Sorcha nodded. "I will be ready. But now, I must rest." She cocked her lovely head and scrutinized the vampire thoroughly as they walked. “How did you learn of this magick? This is not the sort of thing my people share with yours, for obvious reasons.”

 Darla smiled. “One can learn a lot in Hell, princess.” And then she took Sorcha down to Lindsay's office to introduce them, and report on her success.

 

* * *

 

 

The roof had been covered with fresh earth for the ceremony. Rectangles of grassy sod cushioned Sorcha’s bare feet as she walked to her place at the center of the diagram. Mystical symbols drawn with powdered chalk delineated the field, and nearby stood a handful of lawyers and their demon minions, along with a small army of uniformed security guards for good measure. There was no way off the roof except through that group, or over the edge.

 Sorcha would not jump. Injuries took decades for her kind to heal, and she didn’t fancy being jellified for the ages it would take her to recuperate. Besides, she’d given her word. She had to go through with it now.

 Darla strode up to her confidently, her eyes alive with pleasure and expectation. She was smiling, her face beautiful and smooth for the moment, but as her sense of excitement grew, the demon within her surged up to make its presence known. Her eyes began to glow yellow. Her teeth elongated. Her forehead swelled into ripples of bony ridges that swept away all traces of her human mask.

The vampire handed over a small leather pouch. “Let’s get this done,” she commanded brightly. “I feel like celebrating, and I want to dance with my favorite partner.”

Sorcha watched her float to the sidelines, and turned her attention to the task at hand. Three silver trays stood on small pedestals around her, each of them centered on a chalk rune that she had painstakingly drawn when the sun was still up. She opened the pouch and felt inside it for the cluster of short, dark hairs that she knew would be there, and withdrew the mass carefully. There weren’t many – vampires tended not to shed much – and she counted them in the pale light of the moon overhead. She divided the hairs evenly, laid the pouch on the tray just in front of her and took the rest between fingers and thumbs.

The night was still. Not a breath of air swept around the tall building. Sorcha lifted her face to the moon high above her, and began to sing.

The demons covered their ears and darted quickly below, out of range of the melody. But the humans present didn’t understand the effect that sort of magic would have on them, and kept their places. Darla stayed put, her smile morphing quickly into a mask of utter desolation. She did not move, keeping her eyes fixed on the sorceress, and waiting.

Sorcha’s aria swelled from a mere whisper to the voice of a tempest.

 

* * *

 

 

In another part of the city, Angel rose from his desk. His body tingled. His head felt light and wobbly. And something in his belly was burning.

He walked slowly toward the door. Cordelia sat calmly at her desk nearby, and Wesley was visible in his normal posture, bent over the prophecy scrolls. Everything seemed as it should be, except within himself.

“Do you hear that?” he asked Cordelia.

She didn’t even look up from her checkbook as she wrote out her personal bills. “Hear what?”

“Music. Someone singing. Or a thunderstorm. I’m not sure.”

“Well, if he sings like a storm, he should re-examine his career choice,” the brunette quipped. She remained intent on her bookkeeping, and fell silent again.

 Angel eased back into his private space, listening. He could hear it better now, feel the vibration of that voice all through his body. There was something familiar about it, something that nagged at his memory, but wouldn’t reveal itself. He turned back to his desk, took one step and fell in a heap to the floor.

 

* * *

 

 

Wind and lightning whipped around the tall building, but did not touch those standing on its roof. Darla watched the sorceress as her song reached its peak, holding her ears to try to manage just one more moment without retreating from the agony. She saw the woman’s hands stretched out on either side of he, over the empty silver trays. On the left, a spiral of white mist began to form; on the right danced an eerie green flame. The mist congealed into rain, which formed into a puddle, filling the depressed interior of the tray. The fire burned brightly, tongues of flame licking the palm of her hand. 

In a single elegant gesture, she dropped the two bundles of hairs into each tray and exhaled audibly. Her body seemed to wither slightly, then plump up again as she inhaled immediately afterward. Darla’s eyes watched the tufts of Angel’s hair fall into flame and water, and waited.

 The air around them seemed to compress, growing inexplicably hard, pressing against them like a vise. An instant later, the pressure released in a flash of bright light and perfect darkness. When her vision cleared, she crowed with delight and raced toward the tall, naked figure standing beside the tray of smoking ash that had burned with an unnatural flame an instant before.

Darla got halfway across the temporary lawn and stopped dead in her tracks. Her eyes were wide with shock, and her mouth, now filled with bluntly human teeth, hung open. Then she was moving again, racing toward Sorcha, her face contorting as the demon’s surprise became rage. 

Behind Sorcha, standing next to the tray filled with water, stood another man with the face and form of Angelus/Angel, yet untainted with any trace of demon. The human being covered his nakedness with his hands, glancing around himself in fear and confusion. Sorcha took the cloak from her shoulders and wrapped it around his waist. 

“What the hell have you done?” Darla demanded. “This isn’t what I asked for!” 

Sorcha turned on her, a gleam of bemused triumph in her green eyes. “The spell cannot be done any other way, vampire,” the sorceress declared calmly. “You asked for but one incarnation of this man, but the spell must bring them all. Past, present and future are inextricably linked and cannot be separated. And now I will have the other part of my bargain. You cannot break your promise to me, you know. On this you are bound. You have what you wanted. As do I." She held out her arms protectively, refusing to let Darla pass. 

Darla growled, embarrassed that she had been tricked so easily. Her blue eyes slid over to the tall, menacing vampire standing beside her, and saw the sparkle of cruelty in his hooded brown eyes. He smiled at her. 

“Angelus!” she whispered, ignoring the other minor inconvenience. “My darling. Welcome back!”

 

* * *

 

 

Cordelia cowered in the doorway, watching Wesley with terrified eyes. The Englishman knelt on the floor beside Angel, trying futilely to offer some assistance to the vampire. Angel writhed in agony, his screams of torment ringing through the building. Tears streamed across his face. Blood trickled out his ears and nose. He clutched at his belly, curled up into a fetal position, only to thrust his body backward, stiff with unbearable pain. 

And then suddenly, it was over. He lay bonelessly on the floor, silent and still except for his eyes, glazed and blinking automatically. His lower lip trembled slightly. 

Wesley leaned over him, trying to make eye contact. He touched Angel’s cool cheek, turning his face toward him. “Are you all right, Angel? My God, what happened to you?” 

“I don’t know.” Angel’s voice was barely a whisper, colored with shadows of lingering pain. He lifted his arms slowly, and brought his hands up in front of his face. The left palm was drenched with sweat, and the right was scorched black.  “I don’t know.”

 

* * *

 

 

Angelus strolled toward the gathering of shell-shocked humans slowly, sizing them up, and listening to Darla as she filled him in on their current state of affairs. His lips curled up in a softly angelic smile, while the glint in his eyes hardened. He watched the younger humans particularly, recognizing them as important players in this game. Most of them were appropriately on their knees, others prone and unconscious. All of them turned haunted eyes up to the sorceress behind him, bearing mute witness to the powerful magic she had shaped. None of them would ever be the same again, forever filled with an inexplicable longing they could not fulfill. The weaker ones would fail quickly. That pleased him very much. 

Lila was particularly interesting. He ignored her outstretched hand as he came to a stop, like a general inspecting his troops. And he saw the effect his nakedness had on her. She liked what she saw, and was having a hard time keeping her gaze on his face. He did not bother helping her to her feet. 

“I hope you people don’t think you’re going to be able to control me,” he announced softly, meeting the steely gaze of the gray-haired, obviously dominant man among them. “You brought me here for a reason, and I’m bound by that. But I owe no loyalty to any of you, so let’s get that straight right away.” 

“Don’t bite the hand that feeds you, Angelus,” Darla reminded him. 

“I don’t want to be _fed,”_ he snapped back at her, eyes flashing dangerously. “I’m nobody’s lap dog. And it doesn’t look very good on you, either.” 

Darla frowned. “I don’t exactly have a choice here, Angelus.” 

“Maybe not.” He smiled, one corner of his sensuous lips curling slightly upward. “For the moment, anyway. But things can change.” He caught movement to one side and turned to watch the redheaded sorceress moving toward the exit with her prize. “I’ll be seeing you, Sorcha.” 

The sound of his laughter followed her into the darkened building, its malevolent echo chasing her away from him as fast as she could go without running. She would not dignify his evil by running. A brisk walk would do. 

Angelus turned his attention back to the humans. He spied Lindsay, gazing transfixed at the three silver trays. The vampire patted Lindsay's bandaged stump, relishing the flinch that followed.      

"Don't!" warned Darla, inserting herself between the two. She was shorter than both men, and as Lindsay shifted his attention to Angelus, both of them pushed her aside. 

"I can fight my own battles, Darla," the lawyer said softly. 

Angelus was taller, broader and far stronger than the man. He giggled with childlike amusement. "And draw back a nub." The titter became a derisive laugh. "Couldn't stand the thought of a few kids getting snuffed, but you sold your soul for a corner office? That's not moral ambiguity, Lindsay. That's ambition! You could really go places." 

His apparent merriment vanished abruptly. His smile disappeared, his angelic face cold with contempt. When Angelus spoke again, all trace of levity was utterly gone. His words were a hungry snarl. 

"Until your world comes to an end, and we take back what's ours." 

Angelus danced away, swept Darla off her feet and whirled her into the air and set her lightly down again. 

"But right now, I want to kill something," he cried jubilantly. "Let's go see what's on the menu, my lovely! I feel like--" 

He glanced at Lila and Lindsay, and smiled. 

"Like painting the town _blood red!"_

 

* * *

 

 

Angel seemed to be fully recovered now from his ordeal. Almost a week had passed since the unexplained incident, but he couldn’t shake the nagging suspicion that something of import had happened to him. Something was coming, and it was going to be bad. 

Still, he said nothing to the others. He couldn’t tell them anything specific anyway. They couldn’t be prepared for a vaguely unsettling feeling. So he decided to wait and see what happened. 

He didn’t sleep much after that, though. His days he spent reading or working out in his new digs, setting up shop to carry on as Defender of Humanity At Large. And when he did sleep, his dreams wakened him either with an odd sense of longing or some horrible vision of himself stalking and killing without mercy on the streets of LA. 

The waning moon watched him walk through the drizzle toward his new office. His mind spun through the memories of his recent past, dancing gingerly past his last meeting with Buffy to avoid the sharp edges that still tore at his soul. The image of her face or the echo of her voice reminded him of how much he still loved her, and how that love could never be as long as he was what he was. He recalled Wesley’s discovery in the Prophecies of Aberjian, but even with the potential promise of future humanity looming before him, he still dared not hope. She had someone else in her life now, a real human being. That was what she needed, and he should leave well enough alone. 

But as he strolled down the sidewalk, his long black coat flying out behind him dramatically with a gust of wind, he saw the red and blue reflections of light in an alley up ahead, and decided to check it out. Rounding the corner, he saw a cop car parked there, Mars lights flashing, while a uniformed policeman barred the alleyway with a strip of yellow crime scene tape. 

He paused, standing on tiptoes to peer over the hood of the car, to the body lying further down the passageway. He recognized the blonde bending over the body instantly, and waited for her to finish her examination of the crime scene. When she saw him, Kate wasted no time in barreling toward him, her face angry and set. 

“What the hell do you think you’re doing, coming back here like this?” she seethed. “Haven’t you done enough damage already?” 

“Huh? I just got here. What’s going on?” He craned his neck again, trying to make out some detail about the body that would give him a clue to what she was so riled about. 

“I _saw_ you, Angel!” She hissed, struggling to keep her voice down. “I didn’t see you kill that woman, so I can’t prove anything yet, but you can be damn sure I know what to look for, and as soon as I can find something concrete to connect you to this murder, I’m nailing you to the wall!” 

“You couldn’t have seen me, Kate,” he assured her. “I just came from home, and was walking to my office from the closest parking spot I could find.” 

Her eyes narrowed accusingly. “I saw you half an hour ago,” she reiterated. “You stood right where you are now, and just smiled at me and licked your lips. If the other officers hadn’t been here, I’d probably be dessert.” Her eyes flashed blue fire. “So what made you decide to take up your old lifestyle, huh? Being a good guy get a little too boring for you? Or were you just _really_ hungry?” 

Angel frowned at her. “I wasn’t _here_ , Kate. Half an hour ago, I was at home. Alone.” 

“As usual.” She backed off a step, glowing with hatred now. “Just make sure you stay where I can find you, Angel. I’m not letting this one go.” 

“And I didn’t do it.” He stood his ground, and watched her return to the crime scene to finish up her duties. He already knew what the coroner’s report would show. Kate had as much as told him how the woman had died. And she was a good cop, not likely to make such a gross error as to mistake someone else for him. 

Gooseflesh rose on his arms and the back of his neck as a premonition of evil washed over him. Moments later, he went on his way toward the new office, sure he should do something, but uncertain exactly what that might be. He put his head down, walked through the front door and into the elevator.

 

* * *

 

 

Cordelia glanced up from her computer screen as Angel came into the office. “Hi,” she called brightly. “I’ve got checks for you to sign and a new client for you to interview. He’s waiting in your office.” 

“Why, hello, Cordelia,” Angel returned with a wide smile. “Good to see you again.”  He sauntered over to her desk, eased behind it and sat down on her pile of papers, hanging over her chair with his unusually jovial face. “I can’t tell you how much I missed you. Kind of like a rock in my shoe.” 

Taken aback, she glared up at him. “Did you overdose on estrogen or something? Because this sounds awfully like PMS to me.” 

He moved in close, almost nose to nose with her. "Who would know about hormones better than you, May Queen? How was your date last night, by the way? Did he get lucky?" 

Cordelia leaned away from him in her chair and waved a hand in the air between them in a fanning motion. "Could you please _not_ eat before breathing in my face? You smell like open heart surgery." Her cheeks pinkened under his insult. "And I learned my lesson with the demon seed, if you'll remember." She tilted her nose upward and turned back to her computer screen. 

"Until you get an offer of a big enough part," he sniped, and slid off the desk, not bothering to even glance at the paper he scattered on the floor. "And I meant that _both_ ways." 

Cordelia's eyes narrowed as she gave him a decidedly unhappy glare. She shoved the company checkbook and a pen at him, and then bent to clean up his mess, grumbling under her breath. She was obviously not in the mood for combat. 

Angel signed the checks with his usual fluid scrawl and tossed the book at her. With a merry chuckle, he stepped away from her desk into his office and shut the door. Moments later, after the sound of sliding furniture and a dense thud, he swung back out of the office and whistled as he left without a word of goodbye. 

Wesley appeared in the doorway with a book in his hand, following the vampire out the door with his eyes. "What was that all about?" he asked, turning toward Cordelia. 

She flung her hands up in the air and shrugged. "Angel must have gotten up on the wrong side of the coffin this morning. He just walked on a new client. You want to go check on him?" She pointed toward Angel's office door with a pencil, and kept working. 

Wesley started toward the open doorway, and stopped when Angel strode back inside. He went straight for the coffee pot, barely offering his co-workers a glance of recognition. Something about him wasn't quite right, but he couldn't put his finger on it. "Angel, are you ill again?" 

"I'm fine, Wes. What's up?" 

"Nothing. Just… curious." He sat down in a chair beside Cordelia's desk to read, returning his concentration to his studies. 

Angel took his cup of coffee and wandered into his office. He came to a stop in the doorway, staring at the floor. 

"Um, guys? Why is there a dead guy in my office?" 

Man and woman looked up at him, and then at each other. 

"That's not a dead guy. That's your new client," Cordelia told him. "He probably got tired of waiting for you and took a nap." 

Angel turned in the doorway to regard her. "I've seen enough of 'em in my life, Cordy. I know what dead looks like, and this guy's it. How did he get there?" 

Wesley closed the book on his finger to hold the place and rose from his chair. Cautiously, he edged toward the doorway and peered in. There on the floor was the man they had welcomed in not ten minutes earlier, with his throat all but torn out and no blood on the floor. He raised his eyes to the vampire's confused ones, searching for an answer. 

"You killed him, Angel." 

The vampire frowned, his brows twitching together. "I did _not!_ I just got here. How could I have killed him when I wasn't here?" 

"You _were_ here," Cordelia argued. "You came in all smiles and nasty barbs, went into your office and left. Then you came right back in and found Mr. Dead Guy in your office, where you left him."

"I didn't--" 

Fear flared in Angel's eyes. "Something's happening. This is the second murder I've been accused of in half an hour. You guys saw me when I wasn't here. Kate did, too. I don't know what the hell's happening, but I did _not_ kill these people. You _know_ me! You know I wouldn't do that!" 

Wesley closed the book completely, laid it on the desk and extended his open hand to Cordelia without taking his eyes off the bewildered vampire. The brunette opened her pencil drawer, took out a nicely pointed wooden stake and laid it into Wesley's hand with the authority of a surgical nurse. Then she took out a cross and a small vial of holy water. 

" _Angel_ would do such things, no," Wesley said softly. "But _Angelus_ would revel in them." 

Angel backed away from the Brit and held up his hands as if to ward him off. "I'm not Angelus. No happy, remember? Buffy's in Sunnydale with Captain Farmboy. You know how the drill works." 

"There could be other explanations," Wesley suggested. "Spells, demon magicks--" 

"A really good hair day," Cordelia added. 

Wesley glanced at her incredulously. But it was a second too long. Angel bolted out the door and was gone.

 

* * *

 

 

The city seemed serene from the heights. This was one of his favorite places for contemplation, where he could admire the beauty of the human compulsion to build and still feel removed from their passions, their energy, their emotions. It was a place where he went to clear his head, to meditate, and lately, to dream. 

Things were falling apart around him. People didn't trust him anymore, people he needed. He couldn't finish his quest without Cordelia acting as his link to the Powers That Be. Without Wesley's knowledge and research skills, he couldn't be prepared for the battles ahead. Yet somehow, they believed he had turned again, and cut him off from them.  Someone was killing people, someone who looked an awful lot like him, sounded like him, enough that he had fooled his closest allies. 

No. His _friends._ Cordelia and Wesley were his friends, the closest thing he had to family. And someone had driven a wedge between himself and them. 

Lindsay probably knew what was going on. This setup had Wolfram & Hart written all over it. But he didn't know where to find Lawyer Boy at that hour of the night. Still, it was worth a shot that MacDonald might be working late at the firm. 

Angel turned to go there, and spotted a silhouette standing at the far end of the brownstone's roof. He didn't know how long the other man had been there, didn't really care, but something about the shape of his body in that long black coat made him take a step closer, rather than leaving as he had been about to do. 

The other man seemed to have been waiting for that. 

"One thing about you, Angel," he drawled lazily. "You always did have good fashion sense. Get it from your dad, did you?" 

The sound of that voice gripped his dead heart in an icy fist, and held on, squeezing. 

"Not possible. You can't be…" Angel stumbled closer. His mind refused to accept what his ears told him. His eyes confirmed the shape. But he had to see the face before he would believe. 

Four feet away from the edge, the silhouette turned, gazing out over the lights below. A pale glow underlit his features, giving them a demonic cast, which suited the coldness in those dark eyes perfectly. And then, as Angelus turned to face him directly, Angel saw him smile. 

"Of all the people I've hated since I died," Angelus purred softly, "you far and away top the list."

 Angel couldn't move. His mouth hung open. His tongue was choking him, but he couldn't speak a word. 

"Isn't this just the best birthday present you've ever had?" Angelus teased cruelly. "Now you can actually tell me all those things you've wanted to say for so long. How you hate me. How you wish you could take it all back. How sorry you are for all the things I did." 

Angelus took a step toward him, and laughed soft and low. "Knowing how much I enjoyed it all." His eyes glowed with hatred. 

Angel couldn't move. 

"Not possible," he whispered. "Not possible! You're not real. You can't be!" 

Angelus strolled slowly past his other self, his coat sleeve brushing the other man's. "You just keep telling yourself that, boyo. While I destroy everything you've ever loved, and leave you holding the bag." 

"Buffy!" Fire lit up Angel's soul, and he broke out of his stupor. Pivoting on his heel, he raced after his _doppleganger_ and tackled him on the roof. The combatants rolled and separated, then clenched and grappled, fists swinging, blows landing hard. 

"Didn't take your true love long to find someone else, did it?" 

Angelus gasped as Angel drove his fist into the other's belly. He backed off a space to finish his taunt. "What did she wait--" He swung at Angel and connected solidly with jawbone. "…was it a whole week?" …which provided the momentum for a stunning back kick to his head that left him reeling, but not silent. "…before she fell into bed with Captain Farmboy--" 

Angel's fist slammed once, twice into his mouth. Angelus dropped down and swept the other's feet out from under him, preparing to pounce. But Angel rolled away, laughing, and got to his feet again. Still laughing. 

"What's so damned funny?" Angelus didn't like it. The other should be fully enraged now, fighting without thinking, just swinging wildly as his emotions clouded his mind. 

" _You_ are, you pathetic moron!" Angel shouted. "Do you really think you can psych me out? I know what you're going to say before you open your big mouth." 

Angelus gave a short, soft huff of laughter. "Yeah. But it still hurts, doesn't it? I live for that. Hurting you is what I love best, Angel." 

They waded into battle again, this time in silence. 

For almost an hour the two slugged it out, fangs ripping into flesh, bones crunching, blood coursing and splattering against knuckles and shoes. Fueled by rage, neither wanted to give up the fight. But in the end, Angelus offered his double a snort of satisfied laughter, and raced away into the night. 

Dawn was coming, and Angel would have just enough time to get home before sunrise. He thought about Wesley and Cordelia and wondered if they would be lying in wait for him there. At least now, if they would listen, he had something to tell them.

 

* * *

 

 

Cordelia knelt by his chair, washing the crusted blood off a bite mark on his back. She grimaced as she worked, but chose not to complain. Angel was tired and hungry, even though she had handed him a beaker of vintage AB negative. The container sat on the floor between his feet, untouched. 

"I know how it sounds, Wesley," Angel was saying. He hung his head. "Don't you think it was kind of a shock to me to see Angelus standing right in front of me? Things like this don't happen in Real Life. It totally goes against the laws of physics." He frowned. "If physics even applies here. Which it may not, I'm not sure." He heaved a heavy sigh. "I'm not sure of anything anymore. Maybe I'm cracking up."

Wesley stood across the room, leaning against a book case, his arms crossed as he studied his undead boss. 

"If you were going mental, you wouldn't have bite marks back here," Cordelia reminded him.

"She's right, you know. You might have been able to inflict a good bit of damage on yourself, but it's obvious that you've been in a very real fight for your life. I'm inclined to believe you, Angel." 

"Which brings up the next point: how do we tell them apart?" Cordelia examined her handiwork, dusted off her hands and stood up. 

Angel eased back into his chair with a groan. 

"You don't," Angel answer sourly. "From here on out, until I get this thing settled, you two stay away from me, from the office, from here… And if you see me coming, run." 

"We can't do that, Angel." Wesley strolled closer, and took a seat on the nearby coffee table. "There's a lot riding on you at the moment, and we're involved in that quest with you." He glanced at the young woman as she put away the first aid kit in the bathroom. "Especially Cordelia. And without you, she'll be completely vulnerable." 

Angel's troubled eyes followed the Englishman's. 

Cordelia returned and pointed to the beaker between his feet. "Are you gonna drink that? Cause if you're not, you can put it back in the fridge. I'm going home." 

"Wesley."  Angel's gaze was pinned morosely to the floor. 

"Yes?" 

"Stay with her." 

Cordelia bristled. "He is _not_ sleeping over at my place. It's crowded enough as it is. Even if my roommate _is_ invisible." 

"He can sleep on your couch." It wasn't a suggestion. It was an imperative, and Cordy knew better than to argue with it. "Angelus knows where both of you live. He's been -- I've been in your homes before, and he can use the same welcome mat." 

"P'raps we should check into a hotel for a few days instead," Wesley offered. "That way, even _you_ wouldn't know where we are." 

"Good idea."  
  
"Separate rooms?" Cordelia demanded. 

Wesley's mouth opened and closed again. He glanced at Angel for guidance. 

"Same room. Two beds, if you like. I don't care about the details. Just stick together and stay away from me." Angel didn't look at either of them. His black mood seemed to suck the light right out of the room. "Until after I kill him." 

"How will we know, when it's over, which of you won?" 

The vampire raised his eyes to regard them at last. His voice was tight with leashed emotion as he answered. "See me with your hearts. You'll know." 

Man and woman went out into the morning, and closed the door quietly after themselves. 

Angel picked up the telephone. He dialed the number without hesitation, and hoped to hear her voice on the other end. It was early still in Sunnydale. She probably hadn't left for classes yet. 

"Hello?" 

"Buffy." His chest hurt. He couldn't even feel his other wounds anymore. Just that enormous rip down the middle of his soul. 

"Hi. How are you?" 

She sounded distant, not sure what to say to him anymore. 

"I need you to do something for me." 

"Sure thing. What is it?" 

She trusted him. Even now, after all they'd been through together, she would do whatever he asked, knowing he would never ask her to do anything that wasn't absolutely necessary. Except possibly this. 

"If you see me in Sunnydale, I want you to promise… that you'll kill me on sight. No questions asked." 

"What?" 

"I can't explain it…" He tried, knowing it didn't make any sense. "Just promise me you'll do it, Buffy. Promise me." 

"I'll come to LA. We can work this out--"

"No. We can't. I have to do this. I'm the only one who can fight him, because I'm the only one who can be absolutely sure I'm me." He could hear her thinking, feel her worrying about him. But she had to know what was happening. She had to know what danger his face would represent to her if she saw it again. "Promise me, Buffy." 

He heard the tears in her voice. And he heard the strength and sincerity in it, too. "I promise, Angel."

"Thanks." 

He set the cellular phone down on his thigh for a moment, staring blankly at the wall. And then he picked it up again and hurled it across the room as rage and frustration pushed him into action. He rose and paced the floor like a caged animal, thinking, plotting, and roaring with emotions he could not contain.

 

* * *

 

 

The sun was high in the sky when the knock came at his door. He had ceased pacing, tried sleeping, but couldn't close his eyes. He would need his rest, he knew, in the battle to come. But his emotions tore and cut at him mercilessly as his mind played out all the possibilities of having Angelus loose on his world. 

"Who is it?" he called through the wood. 

"An old friend," came the answer. It was a woman's voice with an Irish lilt, but he didn't recognize it.

 He opened the door. 

She was a redhead, with long hair reaching past her hips. Green eyes stared up at him, set in a beautiful young face. Something about her tugged at his memory. 

He stared, searching for the name to go with the eerily familiar face. Far, far back, he found one. But that couldn't be right. He had been a wild lad of sixteen when he’d sown his first wild oats with the red-haired lass who lived on Galway Bay. She was as mysterious as she was beautiful, and he wanted desperately to love her, but his heart steadfastly refused. 

Angel glanced down at his hand. The claddagh ring glinted silver in the wan light of his overheads. As he raised his eyes back to hers, he saw her smile. 

"You do remember me, then." She reached out and took his hand in hers. 

"You can't be… Sorcha?" 

"Aye." 

He shook his head. "How--" 

"You never knew what I was, did you, Liam?" 

"Angel. It's Angel now." 

"Yes, I know."  She tugged on his hand, leading him toward the stairs. 

"I can't go out in the daylight, Sorcha. Not anymore." 

She nodded. "I know that, too. But there's something I want you to see. Just near the window will do." 

He stepped back inside and put his duster on before following her up the staircase.   

"My people lived in Ireland long before yours," she said softly as she walked beside him. "We are old, and live long lives. Some of us have the power to ensorcle, to create bridges between future and past, and bring them fully into the present." 

His mind was numb, trying to comprehend this latest impossibility. 

"I made a bargain not long ago. A bargain for my freedom." She stepped onto the landing and turned to take the next flight up. The stairwell was growing brighter from reflected sunlight, and Angel drew the coat's collar up to shield his face. "You must understand, Angel, that I did what I had to do, not by choice. It isn't wise to meddle with the Powers That Be, even for one like myself." 

"Yeah. I know." 

She topped the stairs and went to stand by the nearest window. Sunbeams slanted across her body, and her skin seemed to sparkle in the light. She reached for the blinds and lowered them, so he could come closer. 

"And right now, you're wanting to know what I am, how I can be this old and walk in the sunlight, and look like an ordinary woman." 

He stared at her, focusing on her beauty and remembering what she was to him. "Ordinary? You were never that, Sorcha." 

Her cheeks pinkened with the compliment. "Thank you, Angel. But you still want to know, yes?"

 "Yes."  

"You never believed in Selkies, did you?" Her dimples flashed. She winked at him. "But then, I'll bet you didn't believe in vampires once upon a time, either, did you, boyo?" 

Selkies were Irish water fairies. Part of their lives they spent as seals living on the rocky coasts. When they shed their skins and came ashore, they would walk as handsome men or incredibly lovely women, and whoever was lucky enough to steal their skin before they could return to it would have power over them for the rest of their mortal lives. But if a Selkie ever fell in love… 

He smiled faintly and glanced down at the ring she had given him as a boy so long ago, the ring he still wore to remind him of her, of innocence and first love. "What about the magic?"  

Sorcha turned away from him and gazed outside, to the landscape bathed in sunshine, and the people hurrying to and fro on the sidewalks and the street. "Darla wanted Angelus. I don't know exactly how she learned about me, but she had me brought here to work the magic to bring him forth from your past." She tilted her head to look up at him now, draw him closer to the window. "What she didn't know is that the spell is limited. So I made a bargain with her before I cast the spell." 

She gestured to the window, and drew his attention outside. 

The brightness hurt his eyes, but he immediately found what she wanted him to see. 

A young man sat in a convertible outside, his pale skin soaking up the sun's rays. He dressed in a white tank shirt and black leather pants, and wore sunglasses to cover his eyes. His dark hair spiked upward above his forehead, smoothed over toward the back of his head in a thick mane. 

He knew the face instantly, even though he had not seen his own image for centuries. 

"From the looks of you, I'd guess that you already know Angelus is here," she was saying, her voice filled with compassion and love. "I couldn't bring the one without the other. And I had to protect him from Darla, from Angelus, and… those lawyers. Can you forgive me, my love?" 

"That's… me?"  He ambled closer to the window, ignoring the sunlight burning into his skin for a moment, to get a better look. 

"Who you were before you were turned. He has no memories of anything after seeing Darla in the street, and this transition is difficult for him." She laid her hand on his chest lightly. "You have many incarnations, Liam, and others yet to come. Do you want to meet him?" 

"No. I don't want him to see me." He tore his gaze away from the man in the sunlight, searching her eyes for answers. "What will happen to him?" 

She smiled broadly. "For now, he has a life with me. Tomorrow, I can't say. I brought him here. The rest…” She shrugged, and grief tinted her face with sadness. “It isn't up to me." 

He could see it in her eyes, the magic of a love he could never quite grasp as a youth. Perhaps young Liam would fare better with her in this new world. Or perhaps he might find his way to Sunnydale…

 Sorcha was asking him what he wanted her to do with Liam, giving him a chance to decide his own future. He wanted to send Liam to Buffy, but she already had someone in her life now, and he’d made the Slayer promise to kill him on sight. He hadn't known about this, and killing Liam would be outright murder. Buffy would never get over that. She could face killing Angelus, but not a human being. He would have to keep them separated until all this was over, and then… 

His gaze leveled on Sorcha again. "What happens to him if I kill Angelus?" 

Sorcha lifted her chin bravely, denying the anguish he could see in her eyes. "Then Liam vanishes with him. They are both part of you, Angel, taken by magic from your body and soul. Destroy the vampire from your past, and you send them both back from whence I brought them." 

Angel's hands curled into fists. _Life was so damned unfair!_ "So if I killed him now, Angelus would be destroyed as well." 

The redhead nodded. "Which is exactly why I left him out _there_ , where you can't go, my love." She smiled, but her youthful face was etched with grief. "I will have a little time with him, Angel. And I will enjoy every moment of it while it lasts." 

"You really loved me, didn't you?" 

She sighed softly, and stroked his cheek with her hand fondly. "Forever, Liam. And that is a very long time, as I'm sure you now know." 

He clasped her hand in his. "Yes. I know exactly how it feels to love and then lose it." He drew her close, held her tightly against him. "Take what time you can. But understand what I have to do." 

"I knew that before I conjured him, Angel," Sorcha whispered. She pulled back a little, meeting his eyes again. "I could see the sort of man you would become when I first laid eyes on you. The brash boy you were had much to learn, but you have learned it well. Selkies do not give their hearts lightly, and never to ordinary mortals. We only choose the best." 

She pulled him down into a fiery kiss, and then ran outside into the day without looking back. She drove off in the red convertible, laughing with the young time traveler and enjoying the sunshine. And for a long time afterward, Angel stared out the window, hoping that Liam might have a second chance for love with Sorcha, for whatever time he had left.

 

* * *

 

 

Angelus had been enjoying himself thoroughly. He had gleefully spread a path of blood and death through the city that bore his name. Darla spurred him on, fueling his frenzy with unabashed joy. Together, they ruled the night, safely under the aegis of Wolfram and Hart. And little by little, he chipped away at the life Angel had so carefully built in the modern world. 

He had been angry that Angel's friends had deserted him in his time of need. They had made it almost impossible to find them, but he was patient. They would turn up eventually, and when they did, he would be sure to leave their bodies as a gift for his soulful self. 

But he had wasted enough time, and felt the need for a significant message to be delivered. And for that, he needed someone important to Angel. He decided on the cop. 

Darla provided him with Kate Lochley's address. For a few nights he watched her, learned how she moved, her habits, her thoroughness at her job. And when he was ready, he knocked on her door and waited for her to answer it. 

She had been home for hours, already dressed for bed. Her face was scrubbed clean of makeup, her hair was tousled and she didn't look at all happy to see him. He stood in the hallway outside her apartment, hands stuck into the pockets of his duster, and smiled. 

"What do you want?" she demanded. 

"Aren't you going to invite me in?" 

"Hah. Very funny. What do you want, Angel?" 

"I wanted to say I was sorry. The last time we talked, I was rude and bad-tempered. Things were kinda crazy, and I took it out on you. I didn't mean it." His smile softened, along with the look in his eyes. "I know things have been difficult between us since your father--" He glanced down the hallway and lowered his volume a little. "Look, can't we talk about this inside?" 

Kate hesitated, considering. 

"Kate, you've trusted me before. You can trust me now. I'll be a perfect gentleman, I promise." 

She swung the door wide, and gestured toward the living room sofa. 

He stood there. "You have to _invite_ me, Kate." 

She sighed resignedly. "Come in." And closed the door behind him. 

Angelus grinned triumphantly as he sauntered past her. He sprawled onto the sofa, making himself completely at home. Humans were _so_ easy. So trusting. Such fools. 

"Before you get started," she began, "I want to know about those murders where you've been seen. You keep telling me you've got alibis. Most of them check out. The others I can't prove yet, but I know you're involved. You wanna tell me what's going on?" 

He let the smile slide, and put on a mock serious expression. "I hadn't wanted to get into that just yet, Kate. Come and have a seat first." He patted the cushion beside him, and waited for her to sit on it.

"So you wanted to apologize. You already did that, but I'm not sure I accept it. I mean, I know what you are." 

"A vampire. Yes." In an instant his face changed, his teeth elongated, and he inhaled deeply of her scent -- soap, woman and _meat_. "And to a vampire, you are a fine California vintage, ripe and sweet and hot across my tongue." He smiled at her, giving her a full view of his dagger-like teeth. "Does it bother you that I think of you like that?" 

He leaned closer, reading the fear and uncertainty in her pretty face. And relished it. He chuckled and reached out to touch her cheek with his fingertips. She was too afraid to speak just then. Too afraid to move. Her fear was pungent and spicy. She would be exquisite. 

"It should bother you," he growled sensuously. "But not for long." 

The door burst open, and Angel stepped across the threshold. 

"This ends now, Angelus," he snarled. 

Kate couldn't move. Her eyes flicked from one hideous face to the other, perfectly matched in every wrinkle and bony ridge. They were identical. 

But one of them had a stake in his hand, and the other did not. She watched them fight, unable to believe what she was seeing. They moved toward her, and then away, stumbling over her furniture, breaking her knickknacks, trashing her apartment, gouging each other with fangs and fingers, beating each other to a bloody pulp. The battle was savage and bloody, and as soon as she could maneuver out of their way, she raced into the bedroom for the wooden stake she had made shortly after seeing Angel's true self for the first time. 

And returned just in time to see one of them go poof. 

The remaining figure howled in pain and dropped to his knees. She edged closer as she watched him writhing in obvious agony. Then he suddenly wrenched himself upright and groaned as he clambered slowly to his feet. Blood trickled slowly from his ears and nose. 

"Who _are_ you?" she demanded warily. 

The vampire morphed back to human form and stood bent over with pain and fatigue. He tossed his stake into the pile of ash on the floor and lifted his head wearily, his haunted eyes connecting with hers. "That was Angelus," he explained. _"He_ was your murderer, not me." 

She didn't lower her guard. "How do I know that? He looked just like you. He was a vampire, just like you." 

The man shook his head. "Not just like me." He straightened up, one arm held closely across his ribs. "I'm the one with the soul. Other vampires don't share that distinction. They're remorseless killing machines, and Angelus was the worst of them. Remind me to tell you about him someday." 

For a moment, he thought about Sorcha, and grieved for her. Then he wandered toward Kate's door, paused and glanced around at the mess he and Angelus had created. "Just go to bed. I'll come back tomorrow and clean this up for you, if you want." 

Kate lowered her stake, more sure now which one had survived. "That's okay, Angel. I'll take care of it." 

He nodded, keeping his back to her. "Sorry." He took a look at the door, and noticed it was thoroughly broken. "I'll get you a new door. Why don't you go to a hotel for the night? You'll be safer there." 

"Angel…" 

He glanced at her over his shoulder. "Thanks for saving my life." She offered a tiny, uncertain little smile, a banner of truce for the moment. "I'll be fine." 

"Right." He wandered out into the night.

 

* * *

 

 

Wolfram and Hart were not happy about their latest loss, but things settled down a little in the days afterward. Angel took a few days to heal before calling Wesley to set up a meeting. He would have to prove himself, but he had no idea how to go about doing that. Angelus knew every detail of his life. He was the past incarnation of the present demon, somehow still struggling within him for supremacy on a moment-by-moment basis. 

He arrived at the offices as he always did, stopped by the coffe pot with a terse greeting to his co-workers and tried to look as harmless as possible. After taking a sip of the potent brew, he fumbled for something appropriately convincing to say. He eyed Cordelia and Wesley as they stood behind the desk, armed to the teeth and ready for anything. 

"Go stand over there, by the sofa," Cordelia ordered. 

Meekly, Angel obeyed. "It's really me, Angel, not Angelus," he assured them. "I dusted--" 

"Buffy's pregnant," Cordelia announced abruptly. 

The world ceased to spin. The floor and his legs fell out from under him. Coffee spilled on his feet, the sofa and the floor, followed quickly by the cup. He sat down, fast and hard. 

"That's Angel," Wesley stated, and lowered the crossbow immediately. He moved out from behind the desk and went to put the weapons away. 

Cordelia sat down in her chair and booted up her computer, preparing to get started with the work that had piled up during their unexpected hiatus. 

"Buffy's… pregnant?" Angel's voice was a mere whisper, his words badly formed and barely intelligible. 

"Gotcha!" Cordy chirped. "Angelus would have laughed. You reacted like _only_ Angel would have. So we know it's really you." 

"Cordelia," Angel said softly, beginning to recover a little from the shock, now that the truth was out. "Remind me to punish you severely for that." 

"Not a chance." She grinned brightly at him. "It was a good one, wasn't it?" 

Angel shook his head slowly, dazedly, and felt the hot coffee soaking into his shoes. "Now I have to go home and change."

 

* * *

 

 

It was almost dawn when Sorcha arrived. He had just gotten home, and was preparing for bed. Shirtless, he went to the door to let her in. 

Her face was serene and beautiful, but the bright energy he had seen in it during her last visit was utterly gone. 

"I'm sorry," he said softly, and took her into his arms. 

"Give me a reason," she whispered against his chest, "that I shouldn't call him back again." 

"There's only one." 

She sniffed. "I know. I know. And yet still…" Tears began to flow down her cheeks, pressed so tightly against his skin, and her body shook with sobs of enormous grief. "The last thing he said before he vanished, was that he loved me." 

Angel sighed. "I know. All his memories are mine, too. Remember?" _And those of Angelus as well,_ he added silently to himself. 

For a long time he just held her, stroking her back, rocking her gently in his arms. The visions of Liam and Sorcha that flooded into his soul were as comforting as they were tragic. He would not tell her that Liam's words were spoken out of fear and disorientation; that the man clung to her out of desperation. Liam was lost in this century, and she was the only one to whom he’d been able to relate. She had been his anchor to sanity, his link to the past, his comfort and his friend. But nothing more.

Sorcha didn't need to know that. She needed the memory he had given her to comfort her for the rest of her very long life. She needed her dream, just as he needed his. 

In time, she dried her tears and faced him again with a brave smile. 

"Thank you for the little time we had, Angel," she said softly. She pulled out of his embrace and moved toward the door. "One never knows what the future will bring, eh, my love? You've got another incarnation coming, you know." 

"Yeah. I know." 

He had questions. She might have the answers, or she might not. But as he watched her walk away without saying goodbye, he decided he didn't want to know. What would be, would be. 

FIN


End file.
